by Nalini Singh
“The human employee breakroom is around the corner and through the first door on the right. And don’t worry about human-inappropriate snacks being left on the table. We have a strict rule about food in the office. Those employees who require what might be disturbing to our human colleagues have their own breakroom. Badge entrance only.”
“So . . . if there’s Girl Scout cookies on the table in the human breakroom, they don’t contain real Girl Scouts.”
“Correct.”
I’d been joking. I didn’t think she was.
When a supernatural was predisposed to see you as food, you had to go the extra mile to earn their respect. It was kind of like a human being told that they’d be working with a cow. Aside from the obvious lack of intellect—cows being dumber than a bag of rocks—there was the whole working with your food thing. Not much incentive for respect and teamwork.
The politics of an inter-species and inter-dimensional workplace promised to keep me on my toes. I was more than thankful for my two weeks of orientation training where I’d learned more than I ever thought there was to know about supernaturals, up to and including the best way to avoid being swallowed by an annoyed lindworm, and the proper etiquette for greeting a Bolivian basilisk. Very carefully.
Mine was an empty, sad-looking desk. The name plate on the desk read: “Irvine Schremp.” Jenny quickly picked it up with an apologetic grin.
“So what happened to Irvine?” I asked.
Jenny glanced around without moving her head. “Exsanguinated by a school of giant North American sewer leeches.”
I froze. “Drained?”
“Bone dry. They even sucked out his marrow. All in less than a minute.”
Breathe, Mac. Just breathe. Full medical coverage. Full medical. It’s a good thing.
While my eyes started involuntarily darting around to find the nearest exit—just in case, of course—I saw that on the desk closest to mine was a collection of items I wouldn’t have expected to see outside a horror movie or a psycho’s happy fun-time imagination.
And a dental plan. A good one.
There were four shelves on the wall filled with everything from action figures from an assortment of fantasy and horror movies to shell casings from impossibly large guns. More than a few of the monster action figures were missing their heads, or had sharp, pointy objects sticking out of their torsos.
My confusion and concern must have been apparent.
“Desk flair,” Jenny explained. “Mementos of particularly memorable missions.”
The name on the desk plate read: “Ian Byrne.”
“He collected all this him—”
“Oh, no. If your fellow agents deem your actions deserving, they’ll give you desk flair. It’s quite the honor around here.”
This Ian Byrne had been a busy boy.
“Ian’s really good at eradication,” Jenny said.
I glanced at the nightmare-inducing trinkets. “I can see that.”
I looked around at the other field agents and their desks. The only ones that had more flair belonged to vampires and werewolves.
“Ian is the highest-producing human in the company. A real go-getter. He was a detective with the NYPD for five years and was in the military the seven before that. You’re in for a real treat.” Jenny’s green eyes sparkled with near fan-girl glee. “In more ways than one.” She lowered her voice. “You’re the envy of every succubus and half of the incubuses in the company.” She quickly held up her hands. “Though rest assured, SPI has a zero-tolerance policy in place for harassment of any kind—from sexual to trying to have a coworker for lunch.” Jenny suddenly looked distracted, tilting her head to one side. “Madame Sagadraco would like to see you now.”
“Are you telepathic?” River hags weren’t, but I could see where it’d come in handy for attracting a human who was playing hard to get to join her for a dip.
Jenny tapped her right ear with a long, pink-lacquered nail. A really pointed, pink-lacquered nail. She smiled in her cheerful flash of pushpin teeth. “Bluetooth.”
We took an elevator up to the fifth floor and the executive suite. “I’m sure Madame Sagadraco will be with you in just a moment.” Jenny gave me a little finger wave and closed the door quietly behind her, leaving me completely alone in a wood-paneled waiting area that reminded me of something out of Hogwarts.
I’d been introduced to Vivienne Sagadraco, the founder and CEO of SPI, at my final interview before being hired. Maybe she met with every new employee, or perhaps being the only seer in the New York office had earned me the special treatment. The other agents referred to her as the dragon lady, but until I’d met her in person, I hadn’t realized that was meant literally.
The lady in charge was a dragon.
She could morph in and out of human form; but as a seer, I got a clear view of what she really was.
To a normal person, Vivienne Sagadraco appeared to be a petite and attractive woman in her late sixties. My seer vision let me see a dragon with peacock blue and green iridescent scales, a pair of sleek wings folded like long shadows against her back. A faintly glowing aura around her told me that she was larger than I ever really wanted visual confirmation on.
The boss’s voice came through the partially open office door. “You’re an exceptional agent, and I believe you are also the best qualified, or I would not be asking this of you.”
“How long do you anticipate this assignment lasting?” It was a man’s voice, a man who was keeping his emotions firmly in check. Unhappy emotions.
Vivienne Sagadraco’s British accent was cool and smooth, reminding me of Judi Dench’s M about to give James Bond some really bad news. Apparently, an SPI agent was in her office and on the receiving end of some bad news right now.
Did she know I was out here? Should I close the door? Though she’d told Jenny to bring me here; and as a dragon, she had preternatural hearing. All that told me she wanted me to overhear. Though whoever she was talking to would be even less happy knowing that the newest employee had overheard him being given a crap assignment that he clearly didn’t want. I hoped I liked my first assignment better than he did.
“The assignment will last as long as necessary,” came Vivienne Sagadraco’s cool response. “I will inform you when you may resume your regular duties.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.” His clipped tone said he understood only too well, and he liked it a lot less.
The boss raised her voice. “Agent Fraser, if you would join us, please.”
Oh shit.
I took a breath, tried for a nonthreatening, I-didn’t-hear-a-thing smile, opened the door and went in.
“Agent Fraser, I’d like you to meet your new partner—Agent Ian Byrne. Agent Byrne, this is Makenna Fraser, your new assignment.”
Oh shit.
Ian Byrne was about six foot three with a body you couldn’t get in a gym, lean muscles coiled and ready for violence, cropped dark hair, cheekbones you could cut yourself on, and steel-blue eyes set on pissed and aimed at me. An instant later, pissed was replaced by professional. If I’d blinked, I’d have just seen professional. I hadn’t blinked, so I’d gotten the full treatment.
I stuck out my hand without looking away from those eyes. He shook my hand with a firm grip and released it. No smile, no warmth, no welcome to the company. I’d heard what the boss had told him and his response. He knew that I’d heard. Somehow I didn’t see a friendly invite to after-work drinks in my future. Ever.
This was awkward.
“Unfortunately, Agent Fraser, there is no time for further orientation or training,” Vivienne Sagadraco said. “We require your presence in the field tonight. We have a politically embarrassing situation that, left unresolved, could result in the failure of the banking system of the entire supernatural world.” She glanced at an elegant diamond watch. Dragons liked their sparklies. “In ten minutes there will be a briefing in the main conference room.” Her sharp eyes locked on mine. “I would rather the situation not
be this critical on your first mission; but unfortunately, we cannot choose the timing of our crises. I am certain our faith in your abilities has not been misplaced.” The narrowing of those eyes told me loud and clear they’d better not be.
I went for a smile; it probably looked like a grimace. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
AND the awkwardness just kept on coming.
My first assignment was to locate the aforementioned “five horny leprechauns” that had vanished while in a strip club.
I recognized the five agents from the conference room, and judging by the less than friendly stares, they remembered me seeing and hearing their butts getting handed to them by their ogre manager, who had gotten a handle on his temper and was now the very picture of professional middle management, albeit with beady, yellow eyes.
Ian Byrne plus these guys equaled six SPI agents who were less than thrilled that I’d joined their ranks. I’d managed to gain half a dozen intensely resentful coworkers in less than an hour on the job, probably setting some kind of company record.
And I didn’t have to jump far to land on the conclusion that the five agents resented me because not only had I witnessed their humiliation; but as a seer, I was equipped to fix on my first night on the job what had landed them in trouble. Like any corporate newbie, I wanted to prove myself; but at the same time, I didn’t want to be that employee, the one who was followed by snide and resentful whispers wherever they went.
Vivienne Sagadraco had made it clear that failure was not an option. And being the sole employee who could see through any glamour those leprechauns could come up with, any further failure would be all mine, to have and to hold from this day forward. I wanted to keep my shiny new job. A human boss would deliver a tongue lashing, and write up an incident report for their personnel file. I wondered if vampires and dragons had a more fangs- and claws-on management style, resulting in the offending employee becoming the blue-plate special in the executive cafeteria. I knew I didn’t want to find out. And key to not finding out was to not disappoint the boss—or my manager.
The main conference room at SPI headquarters resembled a scaled-down version of the Security Council Chamber at the UN. I’d taken a tour when I’d first come to town and had decided to get the tourist stuff out of the way. That way when I got a call from back home, I could say “Been there, seen that.”
A massive U-shaped table dominated the room, with the light from a pair of projectors—one mounted in the ceiling, the other in the floor—coming together to form a hologram of SPI’s company logo, a stylized monster eye with a slit pupil. The eye slowly spun, a placeholder for whatever visuals were going to be used in the meeting. Plush and pricey executive office chairs were spaced every few feet around the table.
The five agents who were in the doghouse were wearing suits that screamed “feds”—at least that’s what they said to me based on my TV viewing. The other five agents—three men and two women, and presumably the ones tasked with cleaning up the Suits’ mess, were casually dressed. This included Ian Byrne. I hadn’t been sure what was considered approved SPI seer attire, so I went with slacks, blouse, blazer, nice pumps, along with a small silver crucifix and a water pistol filled with holy water—supernatural business casual.
Alain Moreau—aka my manager, the vampire—was standing preternaturally still and silent at the front of the room. In addition to being my manager, Alain Moreau was SPI’s chief legal counsel, second-in-charge, and Vivienne Sagadraco’s go-to guy. He wore an elegant black suit that probably cost more than my first car. His white-blond hair, pale skin, and light blue eyes reminded me of Anderson Cooper, minus the giggling and sense of humor.
After being hired and introduced to him, I’d immediately put a permanent park on any urges involving blood-sucking lawyer jokes.
Moreau quickly made the introductions. Since the Suits were in the meeting, presumably they were being given a chance to redeem themselves. That said good things about my new employer. I tried for a friendly smile at each handshake. Four of the Suits smiled back, apparently willing to let bygones be bygones. The last one decided that crushing my hand would make his ego feel better. I squeezed right back, managed not to wince, and kept right on smiling.
Asshat.
Then Moreau introduced me to the “Casuals.” Two of the men and one of the women were elves, and the remaining man and woman were human. A lot of elves found their way into police and federal agency work. For some reason, they had a thing for law and order. All of these agents seemed perfectly nice; and even better, none tried to break my fingers.
The ogre stepped forward. “Some background on tonight’s . . . challenge.”
He said that last word in a way that would easily translate to “fiasco.” Some of the Casuals were having trouble stopping smiles at the Suits’ collective expense. With the exception of the Hand Crusher, the others took the ribbing with good humor.
“Normally, SPI is not in the bodyguard business, but as a favor to the local Seelie Court, we escorted a soon-to-be-married leprechaun prince and his bachelor party buddies for a night on the town.” He glared briefly at the Suits. “Apparently, the prince didn’t want bodyguards.
“Our agents were tasked with keeping the prince and his party where we could see them,” the ogre continued. “As a refresher, a human’s gaze can hold a leprechaun prisoner. However, the instant the human looks away, the leprechaun can vanish. So where was the first place the prince and his roving bachelor party wanted to go? A strip club.” The ogre shot a glance at Alain Moreau. It was almost apologetic. “SPI prides itself on agents that are highly trained and disciplined.” He scowled. “Obviously putting five male agents in a strip club and telling them they can’t look proves that there’s been a training oversight on the discipline side because the prince and his boys flew the coop before the first G-string dropped.”
The Casuals couldn’t hold it in any longer. Snorts and snickers filled the room. Personally, I thought the biggest mistake had been sending in five straight male agents.
Hand Crusher had a red face. “Like you would do any better.” His comment was directed at a stylish red-haired woman sitting next to him.
“We can and we will,” she assured him. “Sir,” she said to the ogre, “never send a man to do a woman’s job.”
“Settle down, people.” The ogre’s voice went low, gravelly, vibrated the floor under my feet, and clearly meant business. “Leprechauns are masters of disguise and can make themselves look like anyone. We now have five magically disguised leprechauns running amok and unguarded through New York’s adult entertainment establishments.” He leveled those yellow eyes on every agent in the room, Suits and Casuals alike. “The prince made no secret of his bachelor party plans. And in the Seelie Court, information is just as big of a commodity as gold. Even if he’d tried to keep it secret, it wouldn’t have stayed that way for long. We have to find them before the opposition does.”
The ogre did some click and drag, and the SPI monster eye logo was replaced by five completely average-looking human men on the screen. There was a name below each photo.
“These are our subjects’ usual glamours.”
“Any chance they’ll still be using them?” Ian asked.
“Better than average. The agents originally assigned to the prince and his party will be deployed to the less likely but still viable clubs. They might get lucky.”
“That thinking’s what got them in trouble last time,” Ian muttered.
“What other form can they take?” the redhead asked. “Male? Female? Animal, vegetable, mineral?”
“First two, yes. Last three, unknown.”
“So we’re looking for a male or female who may or may not turn into something with four legs, roots, or a rock.”
That earned her some chuckles.
Alain Moreau stepped in, and the humor instantly vanished. “Apprehend them quickly and bring them here. We will keep them here until all five have been collected, at which time they will b
e returned to Belvedere Castle.”
I couldn’t have heard that right. Belvedere Castle had been built in Central Park in 1869. I’d visited during my round of doing the tourist thing. It’s a combination weather station, observatory, and exhibition rooms. And every Halloween, they have a haunted house. I would have definitely noticed if there’d been fairies living there.
“The one in Central Park?” I asked.
Moreau hadn’t told them where I was from, though judging from the smiles and barely hidden smirks, they’d figured it out as soon as I opened my mouth.
I’m from the mountains of North Carolina. My words have a couple of extra syllables; so sue me.
Ian Byrne hadn’t said a thing when he’d first heard me talk. And being in HSR, Jenny knew where I was from, and some of her relatives lived in the Mississippi River, so my accent wasn’t big deal. She thought it was charming. Though I’d found out since moving to New York that “charming” most often translated to “redneck.”
Hand Crusher smirked and muttered something under his breath. I only heard two words—“Elly May”—and they told me the gist of the rest.
Yeah, I’m from the South and the mountains. Sure, I’m a woman and a blonde, but calling me a “hillbilly”—either indirectly or right up in my face—stepped up to and over any and every line I had. But if I was going to channel Elly May Clampett, I’d have told him that “them there’s fightin’ words,” put him in a headlock, and sicced my pet raccoon on him. But I wasn’t going to channel anyone or dignify his comments with a response. At least not yet. However, that snide remark plus the hand crush had earned him a spot on my shit list that he’d have to work damn hard to get off of.
“Yes, Agent Fraser. It is the East Coast seat of the Seelie Court,” Moreau replied. “The court exists in the same space, but in a dimension next to ours, effectively keeping it hidden from humans.”
Now that was cool. Note to self: Check out Belvedere again, and this time pay closer attention.